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From: "Bill Morgan" <morg1058@chartervt.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} NEW from Morgan: Jean and Jim, Part 5 of 9 M/F Rom
Date: Sun, 22 Jul 2001 21:10:03 -0400
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* * *

The following is a work of fiction regarding sexual relationships.  If you
feel that it is illegal, immoral, or otherwise improper for you to read
this, then DON'T READ IT.

* * *

The Callaways:

Jean & Jim -- Part 5 of 9

Copyright 2001 By Morgan.  All Rights Reserved

Preface & Acknowledgments

This book is the third in a series but it's the first one to be completed.
With the exception of Jim Dawson, all of the major characters will have
appeared in either or both of the two preceding works.  It is being posted
at the insistence of two of my fans, Heiner and Jeff, both of whom have read
it.

Unlike prior books, this one is not divided into chapters [For the other
books see www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Morgan/www].  Rather it's divided by triple asterisks,
but it's an ongoing chronicle.  The divisions are in the interest of ease of
posting and have nothing to do with the story's structure.

Finally, I would most particularly thank Adrienne for her invaluable
assistance in critiquing this work.  (Another reason it's being posted now
is that if I didn't, her comments would exceed the length of the book
itself.)  All I can say about Adrienne is that she has a background in
intelligence and used it to good -- if for me, painful -- effect throughout.
I mean... is it really fair?  I mean just because a woman's body can't work
that way is no reason to change is it?  (Don't you just hate it when the
woman is _always_ right?  She is and I do.)

Any errors remaining -- and I'm certain there are more than a few -- are
strictly my own responsibility.

If you enjoy the story -- or if you don't -- please let me hear from you at
<morg105829@aol.com>

 * * *



I had had four more sexual encounters after that marvelous night with
Merrilee Adams before I encountered Amy Grant.  I'm still trying to figure
out what the attraction was.  I guess it's because she seemed so young and
sweet.  She is small -- only about five feet one -- and looks very young.
Thinking about it, I guess it's because she has small teeth, very long
straight blonde hair (although she was wearing it up in a very stylish way
when I met her) and lovely blue eyes.

Although she appeared to be only about 16, when I looked at Charley, he came
over and said, "I know who you're looking at and I know the way she looks,
Jim, but she's 24.  And I really am sure.  She's been here a couple of times
recently.  Not only did I really check over her ID, I noted the license
number and checked with DMV.  It's real and it's her.  Honest."

Beyond that, though, she had a lovely pair of tits.

When I approached her, I obtained a reaction similar to Merrilee's: she
looked around her to see whom I was going to select for the evening.  When
she realized that she was the girl of the night, I received a truly wondrous
and very warm smile.

"Hi," I began.  "I'm Jim Smith.  Could I buy you a drink?"

The girl shivered with excitement.  Honest to God, she really did.  "I would
love you to!" she exclaimed.

We went over to my booth.  (Getting a little proprietary, aren't we,
Dawson?)  I asked, "What can I get you to drink?"

Again her response was endearing.  "I... I really don't know how to answer
that," she replied.  Then with the cutest grin I've ever seen (short of
Susie and Sandy's) she explained, "I only had my first drink a couple of
weeks ago, and I still know nothing at all about drinking."

While I've been drinking a lot of Cardhu at Charley's, I had an idea.  "How
about a bottle of champagne?" I asked.  "Do you like it?"

"Jim, are you planning on taking me to bed tonight?" she asked.

I was more than a bit startled at her forthrightness.  "Well, it's pretty
early in the evening to be thinking of that," I replied, "but if things work
out..."

This time her eyes were dancing with excitement when she responded, "Then I
would love it!  But... I have to tell you right now, I've never had even a
sip of it.  All I know about champagne is that it's often served at
weddings -- but not where I'm from."

"Oh?"

"No," she explained.  "I'm from downstate -- you know, from the Bible
Belt -- a tiny town called Pana.  I'm certain you've never heard of it.  The
only things they serve at weddings are water and grape juice."

"Water?" I asked skeptically.  "Are you serious?"

With a big grin she replied, "I sure am!  Folks in my home town figure that
if God wanted us to drink wine -- or champagne -- at a wedding, Jesus would
do His Marriage Feast at Cana thing for us."

I knew that Charley had stocked some Dom Perignon for me.  Actually, that's
a very interesting item.  It's from Moet et Chandon and is considered one of
the world's finest champagnes.  However, primarily due to the very extensive
hand care required for years in the process of making it, its production is
very limited.  As a result, it's essentially "rationed".  An establishment
or liquor store is only allowed to buy Dom Perignon in very small proportion
to the amount of other Moet champagnes it purchases.  Well, it seems that
the booming business triggered by Jim Smith resulted in a substantial sale
of Moet champagnes so Charley qualified to buy a case.  (I bought half of it
from him.)

Anyway, I called for a bottle of Dom Perignon and a few moments later
Charley personally brought it over in an iced wine cooler along with a pair
of champagne flutes.  (This was another Jim Smith contribution; when we had
talked about DP, I told him that the more customary shallow champagne
glasses were horrors when serving a fine champagne.)  He popped the cork and
poured a little for me to taste.  The fact is, we had both done very well
indeed.  The bottle was from a star year -- such a year occurs about once in
five years or so -- and it signifies a particularly good champagne.  And
this was very good indeed.

I nodded and Charley poured a flute for Amy, then filled mine.  He ignored
my hand with a $50 bill in it as he returned to the bar.  (Later I told him
that I could get him blacklisted by the bartenders' union if the word ever
got out that he walked away from a tip.)

Amy was enthralled watching the tiny bubbles rise from the bottom of the
glass.  When I raised mine to salute her, she smiled as I gently clinked our
glasses across the table.  Then she had a tiny sip.  I really loved it!
This girl was turning into a small, blonde Merrilee Adams with big tits.
But she has the same openness and innocence that Merrilee does.

"This is wonderful!" she gushed.  "Good grief, I never knew anything could
be this good."  Then she thought for a moment and added, "But that bottle...
it doesn't look like the champagne bottles I've seen in the stores..."

"The bottle is quite distinctive.  It's a function of the very dark-green
glass that makes it appear almost opaque -- it's not -- and the label that's
a small green-gold shield.  In combination, the effect is very distinctive."

I winked at her and said, "Now that we've decided you like the champagne, it
might be nice if I knew your name.  And since you've already asked if I'm
going to take you to bed tonight..."

She put down her glass and extended her small hand across the table.  "Hi,
Jim Smith.  I'm Amy Grant, and I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you."
Again, there was that lovely innocence.  "I was hoping against hope that you
would choose me tonight, but I really didn't think you would.  There are so
many super-sophisticated, beautiful women here this evening, I didn't think
I had a chance."

She paused, looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Why did you choose
me?"

Deciding to tease her a little with an eyebrow raised I replied, "You're
sure you want to know?"

I guess my comment took her aback a bit.  But then she firmly nodded her
head and declared, "Yes, damn it!  I really do want to know."  At that she
reddened and added, "Good grief!  What I said...  What will you think of a
girl who swears?"

"Okay, Amy," I replied with a warm smile (at least I hope it came across as
being warm), "it's because you're _not_ one of those super-sophisticated
women."  I paused and then continued, "The ones I've talked to have either
been such airheads I could almost hear the air whistling through their ears,
or else they were impossibly self-centered.

"You, on the other hand, are beautiful yet you don't appear to be stuck on
yourself.  Quite honestly, I was watching you for awhile and was getting
increasingly interested in you.  But the clincher came when I came over to
you and said hello.  Your first reaction was to look around to see whom I
was addressing.  You're so un-stuck on yourself, you just didn't think I
could be addressing you.  Am I correct?"

With a wry little grin she replied, "You're right-er than you could possibly
know.  I've only been here a couple of times before, and the women almost
ran me out of the place.  'Go home, little girl!  This is for _women,_ not
little kids.'"  Then she shook her head and chuckled, "But you're right,
Jim, about the airheads.  And you really _can_ hear the air whistling
through their ears if you're standing close enough."

"All right, Amy Grant," I said with a smile, "how about if you come over to
my side of the booth?  I would come around to yours, but with the high booth
back it's more private on this side of the table."

With a lovely smile, she slid gracefully out of the booth -- not the easiest
thing to do, I might add -- and slid in on my side.  I was standing to let
her in.

"This is so much nicer," she said.  "It's like a real date."  She paused,
looked pensive for a moment and then mused, "For that matter, what does one
call this?  It's not really a date; you didn't even know my name until a few
moments ago.  It could be a pick-up, but that's not really right either."

Looking me right in the eye she said, "You do know, Jim, that you could save
yourself a lot of time and trouble, don't you?"

"Oh?  How?"

"Oh... by just announcing that any girl that wanted to sleep with you
tonight has to take off all of her clothing immediately," she replied
insouciantly.  "And you know what else?  In 90 seconds or less, every woman
in the place would be naked.  And," she added, "that particularly includes
women here with dates or husbands!"

Things were really getting thick!  But at the same time her comment reminded
me of what Merrilee had said; it was almost the same thing.  That, in turn,
caused me to wonder what had happened to Merrilee -- or, for that matter,
the other girls I had fucked.  Maybe Merrilee finally ran out of money, I
mentally concluded.  But what about the four others?  None of them had shown
up at Charley's since we were together.  Yet all had said they had had a
marvelous experience and wanted to repeat it as soon as possible.  Thinking
about it, I guess I was just as glad Merrilee hadn't returned.  Our
relationship certainly was going nowhere, and she was much too nice a person
to be led on and ultimately hurt.

We continued to sip our champagne and I asked Amy what she would like for
dinner.  Again I was somewhat taken aback by her response.

Instead of answering immediately, she focused on the bubbles rising from her
refilled champagne glass.  Finally, after reaching some sort of personal
conclusion she replied, "Look, Jim, let me give you some of the facts of
life -- my life.  I told you I'm a country  girl from the Bible Belt.  But
from your speech and behavior, I don't think you're from around here
originally, are you?"

"No, I'm not," I answered without further elaboration.

"Well it's likely then that you have no idea of the level of provincialism
and insularity you're dealing with.  Do you want to know what a big date is
for me?  And I'm not going to tease you, I promise."

"What is a big date for you, Amy?"

"A Big Mac and a movie... and if we're being really risque, it might even be
rated PG-13... or whatever the current rating is.  Honest.  That's it.
That's the extent of my social knowledge."

"But what about college?  And for that matter, what do you do?"

"College?  A tiny church-related school near home: Greenville College."
Then she looked at me with her eyes somewhat masked and said softly, "I'm a
teacher."  Then she just looked at me and I could have sworn I saw tears
forming at the corners of her eyes.

"Okay, you're a teacher.  But from your appearance and the way you said it,
it looks like you expect me to walk out on you.  Why?"

"Because it's part of what I've been getting from the bitches in residence
here...  Oops!  I did it again!"  Her lovely blue eyes were wide as she
added, "My language is really turning you off, isn't it?"

"Language?" I repeated.  (Notice, please, I didn't say "Huh?"  A definite
improvement.)

"Bitches" she whispered, obviously embarrassed at her use of the word.

"Amy, I'll tell you something right now.  First of all, a bitch is a female
dog; it's not an obscenity.  Furthermore, I love a girl who really lets it
out.  Happy?"

"Okay," she responded with a quirky grin.  "The fact is, though, that most
of these women are career gals, including lawyers, accountants, MIS
people...  All that good stuff.  To them I'm 'just a teacher -- yuck'."

"What do you teach?" I asked.  "And where?"

"I teach English at Deerfield High School," Amy replied.  "I teach 9th and
10th grade courses."

"How did you happen to get to Deerfield from downstate?" I asked.

"It was sort of funny, really.  There are two reasons," she replied with a
little grin.  "First of all, the money is very good.  But second, it's the
only job offer I received.  Everyone wants to hire education majors; I
majored in English."

"How did you get the job, then?"

"I had always thought there was something strange about it.  And that was
finally confirmed just a few weeks ago on the last day of the teachers'
school year.  Classes were already over for the year -- no students -- and
we were cleaning up our classrooms.  It was about 10:30 when the former
superintendent who had hired me showed up.  He walked in and told me how
proud he was of what I had accomplished in the two years I've been there.  I
should have guessed it, because he had hired me just before he retired.
Then he admitted that I was his human land mine waiting to explode under the
feet of his successor.  He said that for some years he felt that high school
teachers should have majored in the subject area they're going to teach, but
that's a long way from the conventional wisdom in education today."

"Indeed?" I responded.  This was news to me; I was getting an education in
education.

"It's true," Amy continued.  "For example, a colleague of mine is teaching
English on the basis of only one English course beyond high school!  She has
her master's degree in education and is well on her way to her D.Ed.  She's
one of the ones in the department who's constantly criticizing me because I
insist on correct grammar, spelling and punctuation.  She claims it inhibits
the students' creativity."

"And what do you think?" I asked.

"I think that first, she's too lazy to correct her students' written work;
the other is just an excuse.  Second -- having seen some of her own written
work -- I don't think she knows how to construct a sentence, spell or
punctuate."

Amy smiled again, much more warmly this time, and continued, "Shortly before
classes ended, I received the warmest compliment a teacher could possibly
get..."

"And what's that?" I interrupted.

"One of my students from the previous year stopped by to see me," Amy said.
"She told me that she was the best-prepared student in her class, and it was
all due to me.  Jim, I really can't tell you how good that made me feel."

Raising my champagne glass I declared, "I salute you, Amy Grant.  The fact
of the matter is that I taught at the college level for a while, so I do
know how you feel.  And I agree: that is the nicest compliment a teacher can
receive."  I took a sip of my champagne after toasting her and then asked,
"So how do you stand with the administration now?"

"I guess that's sort of funny, too.  I _know_ they would love to get rid of
me, but..." Amy's voice tailed off.

"But what?" I persisted.

"The 'but' is that the parents are all demanding that their kids be assigned
to my sections.  Furthermore, there's almost an internecine battle among the
parents of 9th grade kids.  The parents of the kids I had last year want
them in my classes in the 10th grade.  The other parents argue that they've
already had a turn with me and it's only fair to give their kids a chance."

Then I did something I had been thinking about, and her comment presented
the perfect opportunity.  I reached out, pulled her close and kissed her.
She was startled for a moment, but when she felt my tongue probing at her
lips, opened her mouth to allow my tongue entrance.  When my tongue met
hers, I could feel her whole body shudder.

It was a lovely kiss -- sweet and warm and loving.  But -- no surprise -- no
electricity or bells; at least there were none on my side.  As I held her I
could feel her slowly moving her tits against my chest.  That really did
feel good.  Although hers were not nearly as firm as Jean's, they were
significantly larger.

Finally our lips parted, but Amy just cuddled against my chest and sighed.
"That was so good, Jim," she whispered.  With her head still down so I
couldn't see her face she asked, "Are you going to bed me tonight?  Please?
I really hope you will."

Then she eased away to be able to look me in the eye and added, "I can't
believe I actually said that!  Can you believe it?  A girl asking a guy if
he'll bed her?  What can you possibly think I am?"

"A beautiful woman... a wonderful teacher, and a marvelous human being.  And
that's just a start."  Then I grinned and added, "We were talking about
dinner and got off the subject a little.  The last point I remember your
making about food was that gourmet dining was a Big Mac.  Since this isn't
McDonald's, what would you like?"

"James Smith," she replied with her eyes dancing, "I'm an English teacher;
one of my primary responsibilities is to teach my students to communicate
effectively.  Clearly, I'm not doing a very good job communicating with you.
What I've been trying to tell you is that, aside from a Big Mac and
store-bought bread, if we didn't grow it on our farm, we didn't have it.
Now is that clear enough?"  Then she grinned and added, "I have no known
allergies, and I'll eat anything.  So you order."

"How about seafood?" I asked.

"Seafood?" she responded, pretending to be puzzled.  "Oh!  You mean channel
catfish, yellow perch...  That sort of thing?"

"Well..." I replied with a grin while stretching out the word, "I was
thinking of lobster.  You know...  It's sort of an overgrown crawfish."

Amy licked her lovely lips and looked so cute when she did.  "I've heard
about them," she said, "but that's the extent of it."

"I'm sorry, Amy, but Charley doesn't carry Maine lobster.  He does have very
good lobster tails, though."  I paused and then asked, "Which would you
prefer?  Two lobster tails or surf & turf?"

"What's surf & turf?" she asked.

"It's a lobster tail served with either a boneless sirloin or a filet
mignon; your choice."

She just licked her lips.  "You choose."

"Okay," I responded.  "I guess we'll have two lobster tails.  It will work
better with the champagne, anyway."

So that's exactly what we did.

While we were waiting for our dinner -- I ordered jumbo shrimp cocktails to
begin -- Amy excused herself to go to the ladies room.  When she returned,
she was almost dancing with glee.

"Jim Smith, this is absolutely the very best day of my entire life!  And by
the way," she interjected with her eyes wide but sparkling with excitement,
"You smeared my lipstick, you nasty man!  And to make it worse, one of the
principal bitches had to point it out to me, too.  It was just so
embarrassing!"

With her eyes dancing and being scarcely able to control her glee, I really
had a tough time feeling sorry for her "embarrassment".

"It was awful!" she continued.  "This girl -- Phoebe something-or-other --
pointed out that my lipstick was smeared and asked me how that had
happened."  With her eyes now as big as saucers she continued, "I had to
tell the truth, Jim, as embarrassing as it was.  I told her, 'I guess that
was when Jim held me in his arms and kissed me.'

"'How was it?' she asked.  'Oh... nothing too special,' I replied.
'Although I did feel faint, I didn't even lose consciousness.  But in
fairness to Jim, he was a long way from letting it all out, either.  But
then to feel his arms around me crushing my breasts to his chest...  You
really would not believe the muscles on that guy!  His clothes are so
beautifully tailored, they conceal his body pretty well, but Jim Smith has
muscles on his muscles!  It was simply heavenly!  And the night has scarcely
begun.'

"Did I overdo it, Jim?" she asked with her eyes gleaming.  "Of course I did
scuttle out of there in a big hurry.  If I had stayed for a few more
minutes, the girls might not have let me out alive."

"Golly, I don't know..." I replied.  Then I took her in my arms and kissed
her again.  The fact was, she had been right.  I really had been holding
back on my power.  This time I really did let it out.

Amy's mouth was incredibly soft and sweet.  When our tongues met again, I
kissed her with all my power and felt her go limp in my arms.  I just held
her close smelling the lovely fragrance of her body.  I could feel her
reviving, but she made no move to separate so I just held her.

Then I heard her voice muffled by my chest as she said, "Nope.  I sure
didn't overdo it."  She moved away to be able to see my face and said with a
wonderfully impish grin, "Will you excuse me again, Jim?  I've got to go
back to the ladies room and correct the record.  When you do open up with
your kisses, you put me out like a light."

I made a move to get up but Amy immediately stopped me.  "Are you absolutely
nuts?" she asked.  "Or do you think I am?  Or maybe you think I have a
fully-developed death wish?  Because if I said to those chicks what I just
said to you, I would become instantly dead.  And you haven't bedded me yet,
either."

"No, I haven't," I replied.  Then, as much to see her reaction as anything
else I added, "The fact is, Amy Grant, I don't want to bed you, I want to
fuck you.  Is that what you want?"

When she first heard the word, she went as red as a beet.  Her eyes widened
and her mouth formed a perfect "O" while her body trembled.  Clearly,
hearing the word had really shaken her up.  She just sat there stunned
motionless.  But then I could see her brain start to work, overcoming her
shock.  It was so very cute and so very human.  Her mouth moved and finally
she was able slowly to stammer, "You... want to... f-f-fuck... me."

She looked around and even looked upward.  Then she said softly, "Good
grief!  I actually said the word -- sort of -- and I'm still here.  The
ground didn't open and swallow me up."  Then she looked deeply into my eyes
and said, "You did say you like your women to be... vocal?"

"Yes," I agreed with my face impassive.

"Jim Smith, I want you to fuck me tonight.  I want... I want... I want you
to fuck my ass off!" she whispered in a very decisive tone of voice.  Then
her face fell and she added, "Oh, dear..."

"Now what's the trouble?" I asked.  "But before you answer that question,
I'll answer yours.  James Smith accepts with pleasure Amy Grant's cordial
invitation to fuck her ass off."

At that Amy grinned, sighed and pulled my head down to kiss me.  I don't
know how experienced Amy was before that night...  Stop!  I take it back.  I
_do_ know how experienced she was; her experience was next to nothing.  But
I'll say something else about her: she was a very fast learner.  Her lips
met mine and she moved against them softly.  Her lips are so beautifully
kissable.  Then her tongue probed my mouth for the first time; when it met
mine, she shivered and moaned.  At the same time she was trying to crush her
luscious tits against my chest.  It was shaping up to be a very interesting
evening.

When we eased apart I repeated, "Now what's the trouble?  What did that 'oh,
dear' mean?"

Amy has a marvelously winsome grin which she displayed right then.  Then she
replied, "You're going to think I'm a terrible housekeeper.  I didn't even
make my bed!"

"I can live with that," I replied with a smile, "but from the way you said
it, leaving it unmade was not accidental.  Was it?"

This time I received her warmest, loveliest smile full force.  "No, it
wasn't an accident, Jim.  It was deliberate.  Before, when I was coming over
here, I really had the apartment spotless with fresh sheets on the bed...
It was even turned down on both sides," she said, blushing again.

"But then I decided that maybe I was jinxing myself with all of my advance
preparations for something that was very improbable of occurrence in the
first place.  So anyway, I messed it up again.  And it worked."

"How many times have you come here?" I asked, starting on my shrimp
cocktail.

Amy looked at her dish for the first time and said, "I've never had shrimp
cocktail before, but I've seen other people with it.  This looks different.
I've always seen it with a red sauce; this is more a creamy yellow.  Why?"

"Because what you've seen has been the standard cocktail sauce.  It's made
with a ketchup or chili sauce base and often has horse radish added.  This
is remoulade sauce; it has mustard in it.  Since shrimp are really pretty
tasteless, this adds a piquancy that I particularly like.  Do you?"

She had a small bite and her face lighted up.  "It's marvelous!"

Then she looked at my and said, "I think you asked how many times I've been
here.  Tonight is the third."

"What happened the other two times?"

"The short answer is nothing.  The first time, I think it must have taken at
least fifteen minutes for me to persuade the bartender to sell me a drink.
I guess that was a night you didn't come in, and from my point of view it
was a good thing.  If you had been here when I was trying to convince the
bartender I was old enough to drink, I would have died on the spot from
embarrassment.  The second time, either I was late, or you were early; in
any event, you had already selected your victim for the evening."

"Victim?" I asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Of course!" she replied with her eyes gleaming.  "Didn't you know?  We're
all volunteers, offering our bodies up to destruction for your amusement.
You did know that, didn't you?"  (That line took on great significance
later.)

Her expression changed dramatically.  Gone was the humor; in its place
was... something else.  I really didn't know what.  Then she said, "I can't
tell you how wonderful it feels knowing you're going to fuck me tonight,
Jim.  And when you're in me, I guess you would like me to scream, 'Fuck
me!', wouldn't you?"

The remains of the shrimp remoulade disappeared to be replaced with our
lobster tails.

"While we're on the subject of vocabulary -- as an English teacher, it's
very important to me -- I guess I need to add a few words to it."  Cradling
her right breast in her hand she asked, "What's this?"

"You tell me," I replied.  "What is it?"

"It's a breast... or a mammary gland..."  She paused, and I could see her
screwing up her courage to continue, "...or a tit, a boob...  What do you
like, Jim?"  That was probably the first time in her life she had ever used
those terms and possibly the first time she ever thought them.

"Well..." I replied, stretching out the word, "that depends.  I could feel
them being crushed against my chest..."  Then I reached out.  At the time,
she was sitting angled toward me in the booth.  I took her left tit in my
hand and squeezed.

Amy's first reaction was to raise her hand in protest, but she stopped
herself after her first tiny motion.  Her eyes widened, but then she relaxed
and sighed.  "That feels so good, Jim Smith.  Squeeze it, please?  Please
squeeze my tit again?"  Again her eyes widened as she made the request for
what I'm certain was the first time in her life.

My hand is rather large, but her breast was far more than a handful.  I
squeezed again, and then again, harder.  All that did was to provoke a soft
moan of pleasure.  "You have lovely boobs, Amy."

She was really turned on.  Then she moved her hand to her crotch and asked,
"And this?"

"We'll save that for later," I replied.  "In the meantime, your lobster is
getting cool.  And there are few things worse than lukewarm lobster!"

The dinner was very good indeed, surprisingly so.  We finished with coffee
and cognac.  Since cognac is distilled champagne, I didn't think there would
be a conflict and there was none.  Charley was really doing it up brown.
The cognac served was Remy Martin's Louis XIII served from its fleur-de-lis
shaped bottle blown by Baccarat.  One tends not to throw this bottle out
when it's empty.  It's the world's finest, except for the special house
reserve that's never sold.

She had a sip and her eyes widened.  "It's so smooth...!  And so warming!
It's simply lovely."

Then she again turned in the booth and asked, "Could we go to my place now
and get started with my fucking?"

As we were heading out, I have to give it to Charley.  When I paid him, he
presented me with another bottle of Dom Perignon along with two flutes.  He
even had a cushioned and insulated container to keep the champagne cold and
protect the flutes from breakage.

When we got to the door, Amy suddenly stopped and said, "I'm sorry, Jim.
Please go ahead and get your car.  I need to see Charley about something."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No... thanks.  Please just go on ahead.  I'll just be a moment.  I
promise."

When I brought the car up to the curb, Amy was just coming out of the bar.
I quickly climbed out, went around the car, and opened the door for Amy.

Instead of getting in, though, she just stood there admiring it.  Then she
said softly -- almost reverently, "This is a BMW, isn't it?  And it's a very
special one, too."

"It's a car, Amy," I replied.  "It starts, it runs, and it gets me where I
want to go."

I motioned for her to get in the car.  Instead, she opened her purse, pulled
out what appeared to be a large bar towel -- that's why she'd stopped to see
Charlie -- and spread it on the passenger's seat.  To my obvious puzzlement,
she said, "In case you haven't noticed, Jim, you've gotten me hot tonight...
and very wet.  So wet that I soaked my panties with your last kiss...  I
don't want to stain the leather."

As she entered the car, I noticed that she was blushing furiously.  Closing
her door, I went around to my side and got behind the wheel.  Turning to
Amy, I took her in my arms and kissed her.  The instant I did, she took the
offensive and began again to probe my mouth with her tongue.  While still
locked in our kiss, I reached out and slid my hand under her skirt and began
to caress her upper thigh.

At my first touch, Amy's first reaction was to bring her thighs together,
but that only lasted for an instant.  Instead, she turned toward me in her
seat and spread her thighs as far apart as she could, inviting my tactile
inspection.

With my hand on her thigh, I moved my lips away from hers and went back to
her dainty ear.  Gently I nibbled on it provoking lovely shudders with every
bite.  Then I was really taken by surprise.  With her hand on her skirt, Amy
took mine that was under it and moved it up to her crotch.  She hadn't been
kidding.  Her skirt was wet and her panties were soaked.

"Jim," she gasped, "get me home!  Right now!  Otherwise I'll have you
fucking me right here in the parking lot!"  She paused for an instant and
added, "Good grief!  It's never been like this!  Nothing even close!"

I had to agree with her position.  I was too old -- and had been spoiled too
much by Jean -- to care for the gyrations necessary to take her in the car.
I released her, shifted the transmission into second (don't ask; the M-5 has
a six-speed manual, and with over 390 horsepower, you don't really need to
bother with first), released the hand brake, and asked, "Where do I want to
go?  Where do you live?"

"I live in a mother-in-law apartment here in Northbrook," she replied.  "And
it's on a large lot backing up to the woods beside the Des Plaines River.
The owners have me sort of house-sitting this summer while they spend the
time away from this infernal heat up in the Northern Peninsula."  She
grinned at me (although her grin was really sort of tremulous) and said,
"Does that sound okay?  I'll just give you directions."

Following her directions to a very lovely part of town, I drove up a
driveway to a garage set behind and away from the house.  As she had
indicated, the house was dark and there was only one light on to illuminate
the outside stairway leading to Amy's apartment above the garage.

I got my beverage container and followed her up the stairs.  In a moment she
had the door open and the air conditioner turned on.  It was a large
window-type unit mounted in a sleeve through the wall.  It came to life and
with its power the cooling air was immediately apparent.

Her apartment was small but quite comfortable.  We sat down on her sofa and
I put my container on the coffee table sitting in front of it.  In moments I
undid the wire and gently eased out the champagne cork.  It came with its
customary pop.

Pouring the two flutes, I raised mine to her and toasted, "To us, and to a
lovely evening!"

"To the finest evening I've ever spent in my life!" Amy responded fervently.
"And to even more marvelous things to come."  She paused for a moment and
then added, "Jim Smith, I only hope that I'm good enough in bed for you."

We sipped our champagne and then went back to kissing.  This was going to be
strictly by the Jean Peters book.

I nibbled on her ear and then began to unbutton her blouse.  Amy's first
reaction -- stopped as soon as it began -- was to take my hand away.  Then,
with me unbuttoning from the top, she pulled her blouse out from her skirt
and began to unbutton from the bottom.  (This was definitely _not_ in Jean's
book!)  With her blouse opened, she didn't wait for me.  She sat forward on
the sofa and shrugged it off; before I could move, she had unhooked her bra
and dropped it beside her blouse.

Then she reached for me.  Instead I moved to her now-unveiled tits.  They
were luscious!  They were full and perfectly shaped with small nipples and
areolae.  Simply lovely!  I took a nipple in my mouth while I caressed the
other breast and teased its nipple.  Amy began to gasp.  What she did not
do, though, was to make any move to get me to stop or even slow down.

I began to work on her entire upper body, kissing her lips, her eyes, her
ears, nibbling on her ears; kissing her breasts and sucking on her nipples.

It took only a small nip on one of her nipples to trigger her first orgasm.
Her eyes widened and she squeaked in surprise.  I did it to the other and
got the same reaction.  Clearly, this girl was very inexperienced, but very
willing to learn.

Good grief!  She was getting ahead of me!  While I was working on her upper
body, Amy had unhooked her skirt, then lifted her body from the sofa to
slide it down her legs.  Now all she was wearing was her thong.  At that
point she stopped... and waited.

Jean had demonstrated all sorts of women's underthings, including thongs,
but none of them had been like this.  It sort of distracted me from Amy's
beautiful ass cheeks.  It was basically black, but with a label, "No Tell
Motel," emblazoned on what little fabric there was.

"Turn off all the lights, please, Jim?" she asked.

This was truly something new in my experience, but I did what she asked.
Turning back toward her I saw the word "Vacancy" in luminescent ink on her
thong.  At the same time, though, even though the room was dim, it wasn't
completely dark.  Still being in the summer and not very late, it was still
twilight so enough light came into the room from the windows that I could
see her lips quivering.  Clearly, Amy had screwed up every bit of courage
she had to do what she had done.  And she wasn't at all sure I even liked
it.

"Vacancy?" I asked.  To her nod, I answered, "Amy, that's an adorable thong,
but what is it?"

"It's called 'No-Tell Motel.'  I'm supposed to like wearing it as much as
getting out of it," she replied with her voice quavering.  "Do you like it?"

"It's adorable, but Amy, when a guy gets this far with you, he doesn't need
that sort of encouragement."

This provoked a lovely giggle on her part.  "Would you turn the lights back
on and then take it off me, please?" she asked.  Again there was that quaver
in her voice; I could tell she was close to tears.  But why?  I mused that
maybe she had never been this far with a stranger in her life before.  (But
I didn't fully appreciate the significance of those thoughts.)

I turned on a light.  It flashed on for a moment and then went out -- along
with the air conditioner.

"Oops!  It looks like I just blew a breaker.  Where's the breaker box, Amy?"
I asked.  "I'll reset it."

The poor girl was close to tears at that instant.  "There _is_ no breaker
box," she responded.  "There are just glass fuses, and I don't have any
spares!" she wailed.

I just shook my head and began to open a few windows.  It was still hot as
hell, but it beat suffocation.  Although there were no lights in her living
room, I could see that a light was still on in the bedroom; obviously it was
on another circuit.  Between the natural twilight and the light spilling
into the room from the bedroom, I had more than enough light for my
purposes.

Kneeling between her legs, I reached up and felt her thong.  It was soaking
wet.  Gently I began to slide it down her legs, but first I had to peel it
away from her cunt; it was so wet it was sticking to her.  Again, even in
the dim light I could see Amy's eyes flare, but all she did was to raise her
bottom from the sofa to ease my task.

I slid the fabric down her lovely legs baring her pussy.  To my surprise it
had been shaved.

With her lips quivering, Amy asked softly, "Do you like it?  I did it today
for the very first time in my life."

"Amy Grant, you have a beautiful cunt," I replied softly.  "And it's so
edible, too."

With that, I moved closer to her while still on my knees and put her legs
over my shoulders.  I began to kiss her all over -- her inner thighs, her
labia, her vagina.  I nibbled on her lips and then flicked her now-engorged
clit with my tongue triggering another orgasm.  I quickly learned that she
was beautifully -- sinfully? -- sensitive in the entire region.  Working all
over, I found I could -- and did -- trigger her orgasms with increasing
frequency until they became virtually continuous.  She was lovely and now
becoming very wet all over from her sweat in the hot apartment.  The added
slickness of her body was wonderful.

I locked my lips against her vagina and began to probe as deep as I could
reach with my tongue.  Her syrup was as sweet as sugar.

Finally, Amy couldn't take it any more.  "For gosh sakes, Jim, fuck me!
That's what you're here for, so do it!  Fuck me, Jim Smith, and do it right
now!" she demanded.

In final preparation before carrying her to her bed, I slipped a finger into
her cunt.  It was remarkably tight, but then I received a real shock: I
encountered a resistance I had never felt before.  My God! I thought.  This
girl is a virgin!

"I'm out of here, Amy," I said softly.  "I certainly knew that you were
inexperienced, but I didn't realize you're still virgin.  That's something I
just won't do."  As I was speaking, I started to gather my clothes.  The
only things I had to pick up, though, were my tie and jacket.  Aside from
shedding them, I was still fully dressed.

"No!" she screamed.  And I mean screamed!  At the top of her lungs.  "Not
again!  Please, God, don't let it happen to me again!"  Then to me she said
while trying desperately to control her emotions, "Please, Jim!  Don't leave
me!  You just can't!"  With that she broke into hopeless-sounding tears and
reached out for me.

"What's wrong, Amy?" I asked softly.  "Do you want to tell me about it?"

She did, but at the same time began clawing at my clothes.  Perhaps she
wanted to see what I have or perhaps it was a way to try to keep me from
walking out on her.  Clearly, this part of the evening _was not_ going
according to plan.  At any rate, she did manage to get my shirt off (I found
out later three buttons were yanked off in the process) and found I wasn't
wearing a T-shirt.

What followed was funny, I guess.  And I'll have to leave it to you, dear
reader, to sort things out for yourself.  Suffice it to say Amy was
simultaneously commenting on my body while stripping off my clothing and
trying to tell me about herself.

"You're utterly gorgeous!" she breathed.  "Good grief!  You've got muscles
on your muscles!  And I got a 'Dear Joan' letter a few weeks ago from the
guy -- the only guy -- I've been dating since high school, Fred.  You'd
better take off your pants yourself; that suit is much too nice to be
ruined.  I've been saving myself for Fred, but when he told me where to head
in I decided I was tired of being a virginal goody two-shoes.  Then I
learned about this neat store and ordered the No Tell Motel thong.

I eased out of my trousers and slid my shorts off my legs.

"Oh, golly!" Amy screamed.  "It's... it's... it's huge!"  Looking up at me
with her eyes wide -- she was kneeling on the sofa at the time -- "Are all
men as big as you?"  Then she slowly shook her head and said softly, "I
certainly don't think so...  In fact, I know so!  I've never seen Fred, but
he was hot and bothered a few times and I don't think he's a quarter of your
size."  With her eyes wide she asked, "May... I touch it?"

"Touch away," I replied softly.  "But, Amy, there's still the matter of
you're being a virgin..."

"And what's so darned wrong with being a virgin?" she demanded.  "At least
you can be confident I'm not carrying any sexually transmitted diseases."

"But..." I stuttered.

"But nothing!" she interrupted.  "I'm going to lose it fast," she continued
while licking her lips, "and there's absolutely no one I would rather lose
it to than you.  Now are you happy?  And will you carry me to bed?"

Before I could move, though, she reached out and took my cock in her hands.
I guess I must be pretty big because she couldn't get one of her hands
completely around it; it took both.  She made happy noises deep in her body
as she very gently stroked my erect penis to an even greater erection.  Then
she used both hands to gently cradle my balls.

"This is where all your sperm is, isn't it?" she asked wide-eyed.

"That's what they say," I replied.

"Oh, dear!  You're so beautifully full!  Can you empty it all inside me?
Please?"

I guess things had gone on long enough.  I knelt on the floor before her and
took her in my arms.  When I moved to kiss her, Amy broke into the most
wondrous smile I've seen in years.  Then she closed the distance and
practiced her new-found kissing skills.  While her tongue probed mine, I
reached down between her thighs.  That's all it took.  In an instant she had
spread her thighs as far apart as she could and even raised herself up on
her knees a bit to open her pussy to me.

Again I penetrated her with a finger, then two and finally three.  In the
meantime her tongue had been dancing with mine, but when she felt my three
fingers stretching her, she broke the kiss and said, "Fuck me, Jim!  Fuck my
cunt with your fingers!  Stretch it for your glorious penis..."

She looked up at me with a question in her eyes.

"It's often referred to as a cock when it's as hard as it is now," I replied
to her unspoken question.

"Stretch my pussy for your lovely cock," she exclaimed.

I did.  Finding her vagina flooded with her juices -- they were dripping
down my hand -- I decided she was warmed up enough.  I reached out and
easily lifted her off the sofa and into my arms.  It required only a few
steps to get her on her back on her bed after first pulling all the
bedclothes off the top.

Gently I laid her on her back, then spread her legs and brought her knees up
so far they were almost next to her head.  This brought her pussy in line
with my cock.  I started to ease in.  She was tight, much tighter than even
Sandy, but she wanted me inside her so much.

"What can I do to help?" she asked.

"If you can twist on my cock it might make things easier for you..."

"I don't want it easy, darn it!" she exclaimed.  "I want it fast and hard.
Now will you please do what you said you'd do?  Fuck my ass off!"

The angle was such that I was driving almost straight down into her so
that's what I did.  I felt a resistance and then there was a ripping
sensation and I was through.

"Argh!" she screamed gutturally as her hymen parted.  But then she utterly
amazed me.  "Could you pull out for a moment, Jim?" she asked.  "There's
something I need to do."

I was utterly astonished by her comment, but that's what I did.  When I
withdrew, she lowered her pelvis and blood started to flow from her cunt.
Amy jumped to her knees, spread them wide and used her fingers to spread her
vaginal lips causing more blood to flow.  Amazingly, she then used her
finger to spread her virginal blood into an abstract design on the white
sheet.  And she wasn't finished!  Reaching up into her cunt with one finger,
she then used it to write "Amy Grant" under the blood stain and then
continued, using still more of her virginal blood to write above it, "To
Jim:".

Although that was my very first experience with a virgin, I couldn't imagine
anything like it.  Rather than trying to stanch the flow of her blood, she
actually seemed to be trying to stimulate it.  But finally she finished her
abstract art, but that wasn't the end of it.  Believe it or not, she got off
the bed, went to her desk and returned with a pair of scissors.  She then
proceeded to pull the sheet out from the bed, carefully cut out her
bloodstain with its greeting and then presented it to me.  "This is a
souvenir of my virginity for the man who so beautifully took it."  With her
eyes wide she added, "Thank you, Jim Smith for popping my cherry.  That is
the term, isn't it?"

"I guess so," I acknowledged.

I helped her put a clean white bottom sheet on the bed to replace the one
she had just shredded.  When she finished, she was standing across the
double bed from me.  Throwing back her shoulders to force her tits up and
out she asked, "What do you think, Jim?  Do I pass?  Am I at least
acceptable for fucking?"

"You're utterly gorgeous, Amy Grant," I replied.  "And Fred's loss is
clearly my gain!"

Then with a lascivious grin she said, "Now... about fucking my ass off...?"

This gave me an idea.  "Little girl, that tired me out.  So how about if you
fuck your own ass off?"

"How do I do that?" she asked puzzled.

I remembered my first time with Jean, with her on top.  What I particularly
remembered was the fact that my cock was sufficiently long that even with
her long legs she could come all the way up on her knees and still leave
plenty of it inside her.  I was certain that with Amy there would be much
more left inside her.

"You get on top is how you fuck yourself," I answered with a grin.  "How
about it?"

Slowly shaking her head skeptically she replied, "I'll give it a try, but
are you sure it can be done that way?"

"I'm sure," I reassured her and lay on my back.

Amy climbed on the bed and straddled me.  She found the same thing Jean had,
only more so: even kneeling up straight she couldn't come close to getting
my cock into her vagina.  I told her about rising up on one leg and trying.
She did and it worked for her as it had for Jean.

Following my instructions, she slowly screwed herself down on my cock.
While she was doing that, I was fondling her lovely tits, pinching her
nipples and pulling myself up in the bed so I could kiss her all over.  Her
own passion, reinforced by my attentions, resulted in her releasing a
constant stream of vaginal juices to lubricate my entry.  And it worked!

When I was in to my root, she just sat there with sweat now streaming off
her body.  Amy moved forward to kiss me and it was funny.  Suddenly she had
the strangest look on her face.

"What's the trouble?" I asked.

"No trouble exactly," she replied, "but it feels like I have a steel pipe
inside me rising up to my chest.  It makes bending over feel more than a
little strange."

I grinned and rose up on my elbows to make our meeting easier for her.
Again we kissed and again Amy took the aggressive role.  What an incredible
young woman!

Then I told her about her internal muscles and it was amusing to see her
trying various maneuvers to try to find the right ones and use them the
right way.  She did.  And the feeling was marvelous!  I could feel my cock
expanding inside her in both length and girth and it was apparent that she
could, too.

"This is so great!" she exclaimed after massaging my cock with her muscle
walls.  "But isn't there something more?"

"Well..." I replied, stretching out the word, "you could try moving up and
down.  I think you'll find it fairly easy, too.  All you do is rise up
straight on your knees and then drop down again.  I'm long enough that you
don't have to worry about me popping out on you."

"That's for sure!" she agreed with a lovely grin.

And she began to do just that.  It was a strain at first; she was
excruciatingly tight.  But she twisted and turned and she forced herself up
and down on my rigid pole.  At the same time I was caressing and kissing any
part of her I could reach, often pulling her torso down so I could kiss her
soft lips.  Whenever that happened she mentioned again the steel shaft that
had her impaled... but she adored it!

Finally I felt that her vagina had been sufficiently stretched, so I rolled
Amy onto her back and moved between her thighs.  This time, though, I didn't
bring her knees back to her head; instead I put her ankles over my shoulders
and told her to try to hook them.  She did as I suggested and I began to
drive deeply into her while continuing my kisses and caresses.  Soon she
reached an orgasm, then another, and yet another.  Within a matter of
minutes her orgasm had become essentially continuous; this was a repeat of
what had happened with the prior five women, beginning with Merrilee.

When I found her gasping for breath -- even her diaphragm was in spasm -- I
stopped my movement to allow her to breathe.  After recovering, she said,
"Jim, I have a favor to ask."

"What's that?"

"Please don't visit me in school if I have a class; it might embarrass some
of the girls to see you fucking me on my desk.  Furthermore, trying to go
over Macbeth while I'm screaming in orgasm every minute or so might be a
bit... distracting...

"No!  Forget what I just said.  As a judge might say to a jury, 'Ignore
counsel's last remarks; they are ordered stricken from the record."

"Oh?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep," she said with a wonderful grin.  "I've just worked it out.  We just
move my chair out from behind the desk and you sit on it with your back to
the class.  Then I can fuck myself to my heart's content and still conduct
the class."

"But what about your orgasmic screams?" I asked.

"The class will just have to get used to it," she replied blithely.  "And
just think!  I might even be able to get some extra money by moonlighting --
daylighting? -- as a sex ed teacher."

This woman is just too damned much! I thought.

Having recovered from the first episode, I took her up again, and yet again.
She was initially screaming at the top of her lungs, "Fuck me!  Fuck me
harder!"  But soon her screams became unintelligible and then incoherent
sounds.  But she was loud!  And she was sweating rivers.  Her body was super
slick, but she was just utterly lovely, even with her hair sopping wet and
in strings.

Finally, I could hold back no longer.  "Cum with me, Amy! _Cum with me!"_ I
shouted and exploded inside her.

Amy came!  Good lord, did she cum!  This time every muscle in her body was
in violent spasm as load after load of my cum shot into her uterus.  Not
only was I in it, I'm sure I was stretching it into places it had no
business being.

After an orgasm that ravaged her body for minutes, I'm sure, Amy was
unconscious and I was light-headed.  I rested for a minute and then eased
out of her and off the bed.  Quickly I washed up a little, then located my
clothing and dressed except for my tie that I put in my pocket.  As I
finished, Amy was recovering consciousness, still sprawled all over her bed
with her thighs still spread wide.

She blinked and then smiled the warmest smile I've ever seen short of Jean's
and said, "Jim Smith, I asked you to fuck my ass off and you sure did.
Thank you, dear Jim!  This has been the most marvelous day of my entire
life."  She paused and then added, "Please don't forget that I have another
cherry to be popped; you're welcome to it whenever you want."

"Are you going to get up?" I asked.

"Are you kidding?  I'm just going to lie here and savor the sensations...
and the after-shocks that are still hitting me."

I looked at her and noticed that while my cum was leaking from her cunt,
there appeared to be blood in it, too.  I mentioned it to Amy who merely
shrugged and said it was the leftovers from her virginity.  Little did we
know.

 * * *

It was very late when I finally returned home; after 1:00.  This was much
later than I had ever been out on a date before.  Nevertheless, Jean and the
girls awakened instantly when I opened the bedroom door.

When I showed them my trophy, Jean's first thought was a possible pregnancy
(the next day she bought me a lifetime supply of condoms) but I assured her
that not only was it the way Amy had wanted it, but she had insisted on it.

Susan, who as usual cleaned off my penis with her mouth, commented on the
blood.  I assured her it was the residue of Amy's loss of virginity.

That night Jean's lovemaking reached yet another pinnacle.  Again it seemed
as if she had to show me that there was no other woman alive who could love
me as she did.  This, of course, was not even a proposition; it was an
axiom.

 * * *

Over the next few days, I scored once more, but Merrilee and Amy remained in
a class by themselves.  On the eleventh day, I arrived at the lounge early
and took my customary seat at the bar.  (Yeah, by that time, I had one of
those, too.)

"Mr. Smith," Charley said, "I really don't know what to say.  All I can say,
though, is that we've made more money in the last month than we made all
last year.  So thank you!  Now what'll you have?"  Glaring at me he added,
"And the whole thing is on the house?  Clear?"

"Thanks, Charley," I responded.  "You've got a very nice place here.  The
food's very good and the drinks are good, too.  And for a guy like me, the
atmosphere is just right.  The music is soft so people can talk without
having to scream.  You deserve to do well, and I'm glad you are."

Just then, who should appear but Kelly McGuire.  Kelly was our chief
software designer writing the software behind the user interface but ahead
of the operating system.  That made me think of Merrilee Adams, and it
registered that I hadn't seen her here since our night together.  Strange, I
thought.

Kelly looked all around the place and then saw me.  She brightened and came
over.  "Hi, Chief!" she said.  "What brings you here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," I responded with a grin.

Kelly looked around the room and saw the daggers in the eyes of all of the
other girls.  If looks could kill, she would have had more daggers in her
than Saint Sebastian had arrows.  Suddenly her eyes widened as she realized
what had happened.  "My God!" she exclaimed.  "You're the 'Jim' everyone is
talking about!  You are, aren't you?"  Then she frowned and added, "I forget
Jim's last name, but it sure as hell isn't Dawson."

"It's Smith," I replied.  "But you still haven't answered my question.  What
are you doing here?"

She sighed deeply and replied, "I'm horny as hell, boss.  And that idiot,
Brian Malone, sure doesn't help things.  Anyway, I came over with the hope
of..." at this point she paused, blushed scarlet but continued, "...getting
laid."

I led Kelly over to my table and we continued our conversation.  I guess we
must have been talking and drinking for about an hour -- Charley had a
marvelous 12-year-old Irish whiskey that Kelly found she adored -- when I
saw movement at the entrance.

It was the sort of movement that caught my eye.  The person was on crutches.
Coming into the room I was shocked to see it was Merrilee Adams.  She looked
around and seeing me, moved slowly over to our table.  I was shocked.  I
didn't know what happened, but she wasn't using the crutches for a bad leg
or ankle; they were to help her walk, which she did slowly and apparently
painfully.

"May I join you?" she asked softly.

I jumped from the booth, scooped her up in my arms and eased her into the
booth across from Kelly and me.

When she was seated, I leaned over and kissed her softly.  Instantly, her
hand came up around my neck to hold me in position as she moved her lovely
lips on mine.  Then her tongue came out, danced with mine, linked and I
could feel the flow of her love.

I eased away and she sighed, "No, I didn't imagine the whole thing.  Jim
Smith, you are out of this world."

I slipped back into my seat and said, "I guess we should straighten
something out, Merrilee.  My name is Jim Dawson, not Jim Smith.  And this is
a colleague of mine, Kelly Maguire.  Kelly, this is Merrilee Adams."

Instead of responding, Kelly turned as red as a beet.  For her part,
Merrilee first appeared shocked, then broke into gales of laughter.

"What in hell is so shocking, Kelly Maguire, or so damned funny, Merrilee
Adams?  I don't see any humor in the name, Dawson."

"Why don't you call me ML, Jim?" Merrilee, said. "Everyone else does.
Merrilee is a nice name, but it is a mouthful in conversation."

"Will you let me out, please, Jim?" Kelly choked.  "I'm going back to the
office to clean out my desk.  You'll find my letter of resignation on your
desk when you return."

"Maguire, sit down and shut up," I ordered.

Then to Merrilee I asked, "Now you tell me what's so damned funny.  And
while you're at it, you can also tell us what happened to you."

"Easy questions to answer," she replied.  "You're what's so damned funny,
and you happened to me."

"Huh?" I responded.  (You'll notice that my usual intelligent response
hadn't changed completely in the make-over.)

"Remember I told you I was trying to meet someone but was running out of
money?"

"Yes."

"That someone is named James Dawson.  You're the top man in your field, and
now you've got the finest user interface in the business.  I thought I could
help..." she replied with her voice fading at the end.

Kelly came back into the conversation, but her eyes were still streaming
tears.  "Mr. Dawson..."

I glared at her and drummed my fingers on the table top.

She swallowed hard and began again, "Jim, does the name ML Adams mean
anything to you?  It certainly should."

"My God!" I exclaimed.  "He has every award for software design there is,
but no one ever met him...  But him is a her, isn't it?"

"You got it," Kelly admitted, "and I am resigning, Jim.  What I did was
utterly abhorrent and terribly mean to her, besides.  I knew she was running
out of money, and I was hoping she would have packed up and left before you
returned to work."

Now she was really crying in earnest, but she held her head up as she
continued, "Where writing top-flight software is concerned, I'm not good
enough to shine her shoes.  And she told me she wanted to join Callaway on
any terms we would take her.  In the last conversation -- I guess it was 10
days ago or so -- she told me she would be willing to work for $18,000 a
year, with no benefits."

She just shook her head and added, "Can you believe it?  The world's finest
willing to work for 18 grand?  Do you know what she said when I asked her
about it?"

Again I just shook my head.

"She said she was so anxious to work for you, she would have been willing to
pay for the privilege, but at the time she was running out of money, so that
was no longer an option."

Now she glared at me while trying to rise and said, "Let me out of the
booth, please."

_"No!"_ I exclaimed, glaring at her.  "Now sit down and shut up."

Turning back to Merrilee I asked, "But tell me what happened to you."

The girl was actually still giggling and slowly shaking her head.  "I think
I told Kelly that I wanted to work under you.  Well, I sure did.  I worked
so hard I ruptured more than a few internal muscles, and that telephone pole
between your legs did a real job on some of my lower-body organs."

To Kelly she said, "Ever hear the expression, 'fuck her ass off'?"

"You _mean?"_ Kelly exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"I _mean!"_  Merrilee replied with her eyes piercing.  "But you know what
else?  It was the sort of lovemaking women can't even dream about."  Then to
me she said, "Remember a small girl, Amy Grant?"

"I remember Amy very well," I replied.  "But how do you know her?"

"Because she's in the hospital with me, along with five other girls you've
fucked.  How many have there been in total, by the way?"

"Seven," I replied softly.

"My God!" she exclaimed.  "And you put every one of us in the hospital!"

She shook her head and continued, "But back to Amy.  She asked the doctor
when she could have sex with you again.  The doctor was appalled.  She told
Amy that the next time would mean her certain death.  She's still plugged in
with IV tubes feeding glucose along with additional blood units.  Do you
know what she did?"

I just shook my head.

"She actually started to disconnect the piping.  'What are you doing?' the
doctor screamed.  'I'm unplugging myself and going back to the lounge is
what I'm doing.'  The doctor virtually screamed, 'You can't!  Nothing down
there is working!'  Amy replied, "My clit's still working; I checked.  For
the rest, my blood ought to provide enough lubrication for Jim to get inside
me, and that's all I care about.'  Then the doctor screamed, 'You'll die!'
'Of course I will, Amy replied blithely, "but what a way to go.  As it is,
I'm so torn up, I'll never be any use to anyone else, so I might as well.'"

She looked at me and added, "And you know something else?  That's the way
every girl there feels... most particularly including me."

Then she smiled warmly and added, "I guess I owe you an explanation, though.
And maybe Kelly might learn something, too.  I vividly remember when you
left my apartment.  I was sprawled on the bed with my thighs spread wide and
my cunt still gaping.  You came back into the bedroom, all dressed, and gave
me the nicest, sweetest, most loving kiss I've ever had.  For my part, I was
still coming down from about -- ready for this, Kelly? -- 90 minutes worth
of more or less continuous orgasm.  I'm sure you pumped gallons of your cum
into my body and I must have supplied more than a little bit of cum cream,
myself.  Never had I felt so good as when you left.

"But then I reached down to feel the flow from my cunt and licked my finger
for a taste.  It was only then that I realized my finger was covered with
blood.  Finally I moved and saw a pool of blood on the bed below where my
cunt had been.  Then I did a reasonably intelligent thing.  I shoved a
tampon up my cunt, got dressed and drove to the nearest emergency room.  I
just made it inside the door before I collapsed.  The next thing I knew, it
was two days later; they were just admitting your second conquest."

"Good heavens!" Kelly exclaimed.  "You mean he's really that good?"

"There's no better man nor better lover alive in the world today than Jim
Dawson.  He has absolutely everything a girl could possibly want.  He's
handsome, built like a Greek god, thoughtful, intelligent, rich and the
world's greatest lover."  She grinned and added, "Of course, it does come at
a price.  He'll kill you, but you'll go out with the happiest smile
imaginable on your face."

"Built like a Greek god?" Kelly responded.  "Surely, you're thinking of...
someone... else..."  Her voice trailed off as she looked at me closely for
the first time.  Then she reached out and felt my upper arm, then moved up
to my shoulder.  "Good heavens!  What happened to you, Boss?  Never in your
life have you been like this!"

"And you never answered me, Jim," ML interjected.  "Who's Jean?"

"Jean is my wife," I replied creating instant shock on the faces of the two
girls.

Then I continued, "First, Kelly, I have a question for you.  Are you a
career girl?  You've never impressed me as being one."

Then she really started to bawl.  "Yeah, I'm a career girl, all right.  But
the career I want isn't what I've got -- or what I had, rather.  My ideal
career is being Brian Malone's wife and spending most of the next 15 years
or so pregnant.  My ideal career is that of wife and mother."

"Great!  Done!" I exclaimed.  "Maguire, you're still on the payroll for the
next year or so, but your job description is changed.  You're going to
become a sex therapist and your patient is Brian Malone.  If at the end of
that time he's not a satisfactory lover, it will be your own fault."

_"What are you saying?"_ she nearly screamed.

"What I'm saying is that you're going to do with Brian what Jean has been
doing to me.  You're going to teach him everything about sex.  You're going
to teach him how to undress a girl, fondle her tits, kiss her breasts and
nipples, eat her cunt...  All that good stuff."

"But..."

"But, what?"

"I don't know how, either...  About most of it, anyway."

"That's why I've scheduled a year or so," I replied.  "It will take you
awhile to get in shape and learn what you need to know.  In the meantime,
we'll start getting Brian in shape so he's not totally hopeless when he's
assigned to you."

A virtual kaleidoscope of emotions passed rapidly over Kelly's face.  Then
she became thoughtful and finally grinned.  "Okay!" she exclaimed.

Then to Merrilee I said, "Was Kelly correct when she said you would join us
for $18,000 a year and no benefits?"

"I think I could go a little lower than that, sir," ML said with her eyes
wide.  "I thought you would be the greatest guy in the world to work for,
but now I _know_ you are.  Could you handle... fifteen?"

"Adams, you're hired retroactive to a month ago.  We've got a really great
medical plan, by the way.  It's one of those MSAs -- a medical savings
account.  Of course, the company fronts the initial 5K deductible, so you're
covered."  I paused for a moment and then grinned.  "What do you know?  Back
-dating your start date gets you under the quarterly cutoff for bonuses, so
you qualify for this quarter's."

"Bonus?" she asked.  The girl was in a state of shock.

"Yeah," I replied laconically.  "And at your level that should be in the 80
to 100 range."

"Dollars?" she asked hopefully.

"Thousands of dollars," I replied with a grin.  Then I added, "Of course,
the serious bonus is only paid once a year, around the first of December."

"Wha... What's my salary?" she asked hesitantly, with her eyes wide.

"$240,000," I replied while defensively raising my hands.  "Look, ML, I know
it's not much, but Callaway Industries would rather pay for achieved results
through bonuses than pay humongous salaries.  Can you live with that?"

The girl just started to cry.  I moved out of the booth and then moved in on
ML's side.  I took her in my arms and just held her while gently caressing
her upper body.  Finally she regained control and just raised her head and
offered her lips.  I kissed her gently and again tasted her sweetness and
love.

She just held the kiss and worked her tongue in my mouth.  Again our two
tongues danced, dueled, met and then linked.  Her upper body writhed against
mine and I could feel her crushing her small tits against my chest.  When
our lips parted, I continued to hold her as she just rested her head against
my shoulder and sighed.

"No," she murmured, "it wasn't my imagination.  It really was this good."
Then with her eyes dancing she looked up at me and said, "Boss, there's just
one thing..."

"And what's the one thing?" I asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Instead of a big cash bonus, could... would...  If I came into your office
and stripped, would you fondle my tits, maybe?  Or at year-end, when the
bonus is bigger, eat my cunt?"

"No, I couldn't, ML," I replied, "but I'll tell you what I am going to do.
I'm going to see that you find the husband you deserve.  You're going to be
a wonderful wife for someone; I'm sorry that it's not me."

Then I changed the subject.  "Now that the business is out of the way,
there's something I would like you two to do for me."

"Absolutely anything!" they both replied in unison.

"I've given you bits and pieces, so now I'll give you the whole thing.
First, ML, I probably did scream, 'Jean.'  You see, she's my wife, but she
won't even admit it to herself.  Moreover, we have two of the most wonderful
daughters, Sandra and Susan.  Sandy was just 14 and Susie is 8.  They're
both golden-haired, blue-eyed blondes and utterly gorgeous.  And in a few
years they'll be as beautiful as their mother."

Merrilee's eyes widened.  Softly she asked, "Do they hang out at the mall
near here?"

I nodded and said, "Sure do."

"Do... Do... Do they ever wear very short Levi cut-offs and shot-to-shit
chambray shirts?"

"You've seen them," I replied.  "I really don't think there are three others
like them anywhere."

"You've got that right, Jim," Merrilee continued.  "And, indeed, I have seen
them.  I always wondered how a woman as young as your wife could have two
daughters as old as that pair.  And yet they're like triplets, so she has to
be their mother..."

"We think that she's really their older sister," I interjected.  "Would that
make it easier?"

Merrilee brightened, but after a moment's thought slowly shook her head.
"Yes and no...  Jim, I know something about the human genome project and to
say our genome is complex is the understatement of the century.  The only
way you could get three women as alike as your three would be through the
subdivision of a fertilized egg.  And there's no way on this earth..."

"That's right," I interrupted.

"But...!"

"I don't think they're truly human," I continued.  "We're pretty sure
they're from someplace else."  Then I told them a little of their peculiar
characteristics, but also assured them that they could certainly reproduce
with humans.

Finally I said, "Now, you both said you would do anything for me.  What I
want you to do is to help me convince Jean that she should marry me.  You
see, from the age of 15, she's been a prostitute.  As a result, she loves me
but refuses to marry me.  For my part, I adore the woman and consider her
the finest woman on the planet.  Now will you help?"

"Of course, Jim," Merrilee replied with exceptional warmth in her eyes.  But
as I've been saying, this woman is truly something else.

"Me, too, Jim," Kelly chimed in.  "But before we move on, there's something
you both should know.  It relates to what ML said earlier -- about our
having the finest operating system and the finest user interface."

"What about it?" ML demanded.

"You've got the system," Kelly replied, speaking slowly, "but I'm not nearly
as certain about the interface."

"What's that mean?" ML asked while I just listened.

"I don't know who does it!" Kelly wailed.  "That's what it means!"

_"What?"_ ML nearly screamed.  "How could you not know?"

"Because I've never met the writer," Kelly replied softly, "and there's no
way to contact her.  Every contact from the get-go has been at her
initiation.  All I know is that she has to be the very best in the business.
When we were doing that interface, the cycle time between iterations was a
function of a few hours.  The best people we've ever met would have taken
months."  Kelly paused and then wailed, "And I haven't heard a word from her
in months!"

"Well," ML responded, "that's a problem for another day.  In the meantime,
we've got Jim's problem to deal with."  Turning to me she asked, "What do
you want me to do?"

"I want you both to come out to the house with me and meet Jean.  Okay?"

They instantly agreed.  I gave Kelly ML's crutches to carry; I was going to
carry her to the car in my arms.  As I reached for her, with dancing eyes
she said, "Wouldn't you really rather fuck me right here on the tabletop
first?"

"It would kill you!" Kelly almost screamed.

"Probably," ML replied nonchalantly, "but so what?  You'll see a dead woman
with the most gloriously happy smile on her face you've ever seen."  Then to
me she said, "How about it?"

"Well..." I grinned lecherously, "if you insist..."

ML was almost certain I was teasing her, but she was quite serious.  She
would have cheerfully risked her life for another fucking right there on the
spot.  She started to slide out of the booth and made a move to raise her
skirt.

"But I can't," I added, stopping her instantly.

"And why can't you?" she asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Because you're on the payroll now," I replied.  "And there's our group life
insurance.  It pays off at triple a person's total compensation."  I paused,
appearing to do some mental calculations, and then continued, "My gosh, ML,
in your case that would be over $1 million.  And our insurer would really be
pissed.  Here the company would be looking at a million-dollar death claim
before they received the first premium!"

I shook my head and added in faked sorrow, "Sorry.  I can't do it.  They
might even raise our rates!"

ML giggled and grinned, "Jim Dawson, you are terrible!"

"That's what Jean is always telling me too, ML, so I guess it's true.  I'm
terrible."

She just giggled again.  It was a wonderfully merry sound, too.

I lifted Merrilee up in my arms.  She felt as light as a feather and just
cuddled close.  Then she raised her lips for a kiss.  It was wonderfully
soft and loving.  She really felt good in my arms, too.  She was a tall
girl -- about five feet seven -- although not as tall as Jean.  Moreover,
she seemed to be in heaven just being held in my arms.

"Kelly, this is absolutely the greatest!  And you know what?  Jim's so
strong he could easily carry three of me."

 * * *

End Part 5 of 9

To be continued --

* * *

Comments and constructive criticism are sincerely welcome.  Let me hear from
you.  morg105829@aol.com

* * *

"Jean & Jim."  Copyright 2001 by Morgan.  <morg105829@aol.com>

All rights reserved.  No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
or by any electronic means, including photocopying, recording or by any
information and retrieval system, without the written permission of the
author.

* * *

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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